Moving On
by Manda0610
Summary: Christopher remembers. Oneshot.


_Author's Note: Greetings, Gentle Reader. This is my first Harper's Island story, I hope you like it. I just want to preface by saying, I know that Sully couldn't have survived what happened. I don't care. Despite all the messed up things he did, he came through in the end, and deserved better than he got. Maybe this is better, but I'll leave it up to you._

_Enjoy._

_-Manda._

A bell jingles as I open the diner door. The waitress brings me a menu as I slide into the booth near the door and flashes me a welcoming smile. There was a time I'd have grinned back and flirted mercilessly. Now, I just smile wanly and take it with a quiet "Thank you."

I look over the menu and decide on a hamburger, then flip it over to find the history of the roughneck town I'm in printed on the back. I forget the name of it. I've been on the road since I got out of the hospital, working my way from place to place. I can't seem to find anywhere to settle. No way could I stay in Washington, not after what happened. I didn't think it would take this long. But everywhere I go, there's something to remind me. A person, a name, a place. Maybe there always will be.

I skim the story in a bored sort of way and wait to have my order taken. I run my hand, yet again, over my closely-cropped blond hair as I read, as though that'll make it grow back. It's shorter than it's been in years, instead of long and gelled in an artfully messy way. I guess I thought cutting my hair and going by Christopher for the first time in ten years would make the memories go away.

It hasn't worked yet, but I'm trying to be hopeful.

"Hi, I'm Chloe. Would you like a drink?" I hear suddenly. I look up quickly, shaken, to see the waitress at my table, holding a pad of paper and looking down at me expectantly.

"What did you say?" I whisper. She blinks, looking a little freaked out.

"Would you like a drink?" she asks again, slowly.

"No...your name."

"Um...Chloe."

My eyes find hers for a second, as though it can bring Chloe, the other Chloe, back. Then I snap out of it. "Uh...just a water and a hamburger with everything," I say quickly, handing her the menu.

"You got it," she says, hurrying away nervously.

Jesus Christ, you'd think I'd be over hearing her name over a year later. She hadn't even been _my _girlfriend, despite my best efforts. That's pushing it a bit, though; I was hardly after a relationship with her.

I look over at the waitress again. She doesn't even look like Chloe. Chloe had been tall, almost as tall as me, and blonde, slim and gorgeous.

Not that the waitress is that hard on the eyes. In another life I probably would have tried to pick her up. She's shorter than Chloe by almost a head, and heavier. Not that that's saying much, Chloe's body would have made ballerinas weep at their misfortune of being so fat. Still...the waitress is cute. Curvier, I note, letting my eyes run down her body. Her hair's much darker and curly, a bit wild; it suits her. Chloe never would have walked out of the house like that, though. She always looked perfectly groomed, like she was heading to a modeling shoot. That had suited her, too.

Listen to me. Like I knew her my whole damn life instead of the, what, seven days we were on that God-forsaken rock. Not even that, considering she didn't make it that far. I force my mind not to conjure the mental image of her falling—no, jumping—from that bridge. I hadn't been there, but Abby told me about it; how she'd let go after that annoying British boyfriend of hers had gotten himself killed after failing to protect her properly. I'd have done better.

Cal hadn't been a bad guy, though, really. Just...annoying. With all his stupid British words and fancy medical degree. He started growing on me a little, though, after I realized I didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell with Chloe, and that he really loved her. He was better for her than I would have been. I'd prayed as I was repairing his gunshot wound, begging God to let him survive. Not that it'd done him much good.

Well, no, that isn't true either. He got to see Chloe again, maybe even ask her to marry him. I wonder if he got the chance; I hope so. I haven't decided what I hope her answer was yet.

Thinking about them brings me back to Abby, and remembering why the whole thing started in the first place. I couldn't bring myself to resent her, after it was all said and done. The blame she'd laid upon herself was enough. Poor Abby, she didn't deserve any of it; she hadn't done anything to earn the deaths of over two dozen people laid on her head. Except love Henry.

Henry, my best friend, the guy that would have done anything for me.

Including kill me, as he'd proven with flying colors when he'd stuck that knife into my back, literally and figuratively. I flinch involuntarily, thinking of the scar that I'll carry for the rest of my life. I still don't know how I survived getting it. Neither do the doctors that patched me up; another inch and Henry would have punctured my lung. Had Abby and Jimmy been an hour or two later, the transfusions they'd had to give me wouldn't have done me a damn bit of good.

I still thank God everyday for Abby and Jimmy. They found me, after I was in the woods for hours, waiting to die. Abby managed to pack my wound and Jimmy carried me all the way to the sheriff's station. Jimmy, the only one I ever suspected of the murders, and Abby, the one I had once blamed all of it on, were the ones to save me. The irony isn't lost on me.

Part of me still can't believe it was Henry. He'd seemed so happy to finally be marrying Trish. She got the worst of it, really. Finding out the truth about Richard and Katherine, then losing her dad the next day. Having to witness all of it with her own eyes. Blaming JD, Henry's brother for all intents and purposes, but still loving Henry, still being willing to marry him. Just to be killed by him in the end, then have her body disrespected and mangled by that maniac, John Wakefield. I'm glad I got Shea and Madison off the island, if only for Trish's sake. She deserved to have family at her funeral, even though half of it was there in caskets of their own.

Shea and Madison. So many died for them. For Madison, really. Danny, Beth, Cal and Chloe...they all died because of their decision to stay and help find Madison. Shane had died staying at the Cannery to fight Wakefield, giving the girls the chance to escape. That part still surprises me. I guess he was a better guy than any of us gave him credit for.

I still don't like Madison—she freaks me out. But I don't regret staying to help find her, despite what I told Cal. I guess he was right; I couldn't have lived with myself had I left that night, knowing it was probably sending an innocent, if creepy, little girl to her death. And I don't regret sending them off in that boat without me. Even had I known then what Henry's true colors were, I'm not sure I'd have done things any differently. All of the people I'd ever really cared about were on that island, one way or another. In my mind, there wasn't really a choice. Someone had to stay with the radio, to hear the news from the Coast Guard.

I hate to say it, but I'm glad I was the only one of us guys to find out what Henry really was. Booth couldn't have handled it. We never found where he was buried—Malcolm took that to the grave. He probably would have just been pissed he'd burned the money that was supposed to be his anyway. Danny, the sensitive one, would have tried to be understanding and forgive him. He probably would have said Henry couldn't help it, being that lunatic's son, finding out the girl he'd always been secretly in love with was really his sister. I don't care. I stand by what I said to Henry about life: it's tough, grow a pair.

A small cough brings me back to present. Chloe, the waitress Chloe, places my order in front of me and smiles tightly. "Can I get you anything else?" she asks.

I know she's probably praying I say no, eat my food, leave way too much to cover the bill, and walk out. I can't say I blame her...I acted like a total spaz when she was here earlier. I should probably apologize. But I won't. What's the point; I won't be in town any longer than it'll take to eat this burger. I smile half-heartedly and shake my head.

Before I leave, I look out the window. It's a nice little town. Quiet, probably a good place to settle down. Then I look over at the waitress, Chloe, and hold back a sigh. No. The last thing I need is another reminder. I throw down a ten, more than twice the bill, and walk out.

Time to move on.


End file.
